


baby, you make my heart beat faster

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, M/M, taxidermy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's into Harry. Harry's into taxidermy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, you make my heart beat faster

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: mentions of blood, animal death (in the context of roadkill). nothing too explicit, but there is one on screen animal death. none of the taxidermy is explicitly described. (more spoilery notes at the end.)
> 
> thank you so much to [phallusophical](http://phallusophical.tumblr.com/) and [wes411](http://wes411.tumblr.com/) for reading this over!
> 
> title is from 'beat your heart out' by the distillers

It’s fucking hot out.

Niall leans back against the side of the truck, hisses and jerks forward when the scorching metal burns the sensitive skin on the back of his arm. He looks around to make sure no one noticed, it’s his first day, right, he’s trying to make a good impression, and he accidentally catches Liam’s eye.

Liam scrunches his face in sympathy, and that, well. That’s probably all right. Liam’s a good guy, seems like, taking Niall under his metaphorical wing and all that. He didn’t even take the piss when Niall spent a good ten minutes rubbing in his SPF 65 before the start of his shift. Just pointed out that Niall had missed a spot near his elbow and then gently steered him towards the rest of the crew, explaining in an undertone what Niall’s meant to be doing.

Not much, it turns out. Niall’s delegated to holding a stop sign, swiveling it around to say ‘slow’ on the rare occasion someone drives down the bit of road the work crew is currently repairing. He’s got to be careful to coordinate his sign holding with the poor bloke on the other side. If they both swivel their signs to ‘slow’ at the same time, there could be a head on collision in the single open lane, and Niall would probably lose his job before he even got his first paycheck.

He thought there would be more, like, heavy-lifting in the construction business, but he’s not going to complain. Sweat is dripping down his spine, making his scalp itch, and he can feel his skin burning a crispy red despite his liberal application of sunblock, and all he’s doing is holding a bloody sign.

Liam and the rest of the crew have been shoveling asphalt and doing things with fancy equipment (and have also spent a fair bit of time standing around, looking tan and important and rather useless), and in spite of the standing about bit, Niall’s not sure how they’re managing with the heat. He’s struggling as it is, trying to hold his sign straight, fingers cramping uncomfortably. If he’s not mistaken, there are blisters forming on his palm already.

Niall spares a moment to mourn the fact that he’s already getting blisters, but it turns out sign holding is a fair bit more effort than strumming guitar strings. There’s a pile of bills growing at an alarming rate on his kitchen counter, though, and he’ll make more in an hour holding this fucking sign than he ever did during an entire performance.

Of course, relying on tips from a half hour set on Wednesday nights at Paddy’s was never a solid plan, but, well. That was never supposed to be the plan, was it?

The glinting reflection of light from an approaching car catches his eye. Niall radios over to the other sign-guy (and how cool is it that he gets to use a radio?) before rotating his sign around to ‘slow.’

Either the driver can’t read, though, or he has a blatant disregard for traffic signs, because he does not slow, not even a little. He barrels past the crew in a blur of chrome, so fast and close that Niall feels a gust of hot air blowing over him in its wake. It’d feel nice, except for the part where Niall’s heart is in his throat because this lunatic almost _hit_ him.

“What the fuck!” he yells, but it’s drowned out by obnoxious honking, because this guy has the fucking nerve to _honk_ at them. The noise startles a rabbit that darts idiotically into the road.

Niall probably imagines the splat. It’s over in an instant, anyway, the crew nothing but specks in the guy’s review mirror and a red smear staining the road. Well, that’s not quite true, Niall realizes as he watches the angry workmen gather around, grumbling furiously. There’s still half a rabbit left.

“Fuckin’ hell,” says one of the guys. Bressie, he thinks. He’s built like a tank, absolutely towers over Niall. “He coulda feckin’ killed someone!”

“Killed that rabbit,” someone else points out.

Niall scoffs. “Hardly counts. Rabbits are pointless. Do nothing.”

Adam or Alfred or Anthony – it’s an ‘a’ name, Niall’s nearly sure – slides the blade of a shovel across the asphalt with a grating noise that sets Niall’s teeth on edge. It looks like he intends to scrape the rabbit off the road like a sad pancake, but then Liam’s arm flashes out, stopping Aaron before the tip of the shovel reaches the poor thing.

“Hold up, Andy,” he says - _Andy_ , that’s the guy’s name – “Look, the top half isn’t too badly damaged, think maybe Harry can use it.”

Andy snorts, unimpressed, but allows Liam to take the shovel from his slack grip and carefully scoop the rabbit up. “Whatever you put in your cooler is no business of mine, Payne,” he drawls in a tone that implies he’s actually sticking his nose directly in Liam’s business and is judging him harshly and will probably spread horrid rumors about him. He grimaces at Liam and its weirdly friendly – oh, maybe that’s a smile, then – and Liam’s smiling back, his eyes crinkling with it, and Niall gives up trying to understand construction workers.

“Who’s Harry?” he asks, because his hand is starting to cramp from holding the damn sign and he’s a bit curious as to who might be interested in half a dead rabbit.

“Oh!” Liam exclaims, face lighting up. He makes quite the picture, his tan, muscled arms gleaming with sweat, strong hands gripping the handle of the shovel that’s still cradling its sad cargo. “He’s a taxidermist. You know, like, he takes dead stuff and--”

Niall holds out a hand to stop Liam’s speech, but quickly grips the sign again before it starts lilting sideways. It’s fucking _heavy_. “I know what a taxidermist is,” he grunts, eying Liam’s shovel apprehensively. “Not that I’m an expert, mate, but what good is a half-squashed rabbit?”

Liam shrugs. “That’s for Harry to decide, innit?” With more care than Niall would have expected, Liam walks his shovel to the bed of the truck, reaching for a small cooler nestled amongst random tools. He gently slides the rabbit inside, and Niall feels a bit queasy that Liam’s so casual about rodent guts touching his lunch. But then Liam reaches for a second cooler, and grabs a few handfuls of ice from it to pack around the rabbit. Ah, maybe he’s not mixing guts and lunch, after all.

He catches Niall watching and smiles almost shyly. “Never know when I might get something for Harry, ya know? Best to be prepared.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” Niall agrees bemusedly. Liam beams.

-

Liam offers Niall the chance to come along when he drops off his cooler-surprise to Harry after their shift. Niall’s exhausted and sunburnt, but too intrigued to say no.

-

A cheerful bell chimes when Liam pushes open the door to the quaint little shop. An icy blast of air hits Niall’s heated skin and he groans at how good it feels. Liam shoots him a knowing look over his shoulder as he places the cooler on the counter with a loud thunk.

The sound reverberates around the room and Niall glances around with mild interest. He can feel his eyes widen and has to tighten the muscle of his jaw to keep it from dropping as he takes in his surroundings. The shop is little, but it’s packed. There are all sorts of animals – rodents and fish and bigger game, full bodies and just mounted heads – piled haphazardly around the space like an overcrowded museum. Some of the animals aren’t even real, Niall’s pretty sure – last he checked, bobcats don’t have the body of birds.

There’s a scuffling noise from the backroom, and a moment later the door opens with a whine. Niall’s jaw actually does drop, then, because the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen in real life steps through the door. Tall Dark and Cheekbones spots Liam and his face splits into a wide grin. Niall’s knees go weak. Or, like, the dodgy one does. He rubs at it reflexively and feels the muscle twinge. It’s been a long day on his feet.

“Hey Zayn,” Liam says. “Harry around?”

Zayn waves a hand around vaguely. “He’s in the back, messing around with something.” He eyes the cooler with interest. “What’s this, then? Did you bring us a present?”

“Take a look,” Liam offers. “You’ll probably be more interested than Harry would, actually.”

Zayn reaches for the cooler with eager hands and tugs the lid off. His nose wrinkles adorably as he studies the contents. “I get that it’s roadkill, Liam, but does it always have to be so _bloody_?”

That takes Niall by surprise. “Is taxidermy not bloody work?” he asks with confusion.

Zayn glances up, smiling wryly. “Not if you’re any good.”

“Well?” Liam prompts as Niall digests that. “Think it’s salvageable?”

Zayn tilts his head, considering. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Think I can find a use for it. Should still have Harry take a look though. He’s got a better eye for when they’re… mangled like that.”

There’s a sudden crash from the backroom then, followed by loud “ _fuck_!” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Oi! Harry! Get out here,” he yells. “Liam’s got a present for us!”

After a few more banging noises and muffled curses, the back door swings open and a mop with curls stumbles through. Or, well, it’s a person, but, like, a tall, gangly, string-bean of a person. He shoves his mess of curls out of his eyes with one hand and smiles charmingly. “Liam!” he greets before his eyes slide over to Niall. “You brought a pal!”

“Oh, yeah, this is Niall,” Liam explains. “He’s new on the crew.”

Harry’s smile widens. He’s got a huge mouth. Like a trout. “Ohhh,” he says. “Are you into construction, then, Niall?”

“I mean,” Niall starts haltingly. “Pays the bills? ‘S’not, like, my passion or anything.”

Harry laughs loudly. “So it’s not like me and dead things, eh?”

With another glance around the overcrowded shop, Niall swallows. “Is this your passion then? Dead—um, taxidermy?”

Beaming, Harry puffs his skinny chest out with pride. “I know it’s a bit unusual,” he says, “but that’s kinda why I like it? Like, okay, here--” he walks around the counter to tug on Niall’s arm, leading him off into the shop.

“Here we go,” mutters Zayn. Niall glances back over his shoulder and sees both Liam and Zayn watching him in amusement. “Don’t let him talk your ear off, Niall!” Liam calls. Zayn’s shaking his head. “’S’too late. Harry’s found a captive audience. Niall’s a goner.”

“What,” Niall starts to say, but Harry shushes him. “Don’t listen to them. Zayn’s a hypocrite anyway, he _loves_ taxidermy.”

“Stop projecting, Haz!” Zayn yells. “I tolerate it at best!”

“He’s lying,” Harry says cheerfully. “Look, see that one?” He points to what appears to be a small, furry mermaid. On closer inspection, Niall realizes it’s actually a squirrel and a – fish tail?

“Zayn made that one,” explains Harry, sounding like a proud father. “He’s into mythological things, urban legends and all that. It’s for his thesis.” He drags Niall closer by the hand he still has wrapped around Niall’s wrist. “Look at the craftsmanship. Tell me, is that the work of a man that merely tolerates taxidermy?”

“Er… no? I’m sorry, did you say Zayn’s _thesis_?”

Harry waves his hand carelessly. “Thesis, dissertation, whatever. Going for his master’s in art, our Zayn. Very bright.”

“What the fuck’s he doing in a taxidermy shop, then?” Niall blurts out before he can stop himself. Shit, he’s really got to work on that.

Luckily, Harry doesn’t seem offended. He just barks out another laugh. “Real man of mystery, isn’t he?”

Niall’s wrist is pleasantly warm where Harry’s long fingers are gripping him tight, fingertips pressed against his pulse point. Harry’s pulling him along again, rambling on in his slow voice, “Now, forget the half-baked shit Zayn’s always making. Wanna show you some of the rarer specimens I’ve got. Did you know capybaras are only native to South America? I found this baby at a garage sale, of all places…”

-

Niall’s barely stumbled into his bed that night before sleep takes him. His dreams are strangely vivid, being chased around by giant, rumbling cars, wheels licking at his heels because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t run fast enough. The dream shifts and someone’s standing over him with a gleaming needle, holding him down by the wrist and promising that “it won’t hurt a bit.”

He can’t remember any of it when he wakes up, just the phantom pressure of warm fingers against his pulse.

-

“How did ya meet Harry?” Niall asks, real casual like. They’re on a lunch break, sitting in the shade on the side of the road. Niall polished off the first half of his sandwich in two bites and it’s a struggle to slow down and savor the rest.

“Hmm? Oh, I dunno, at a club.” Liam answers, seemingly more preoccupied with his bag of crisps.

“A _club_?” Niall repeats disbelievingly. He’s not sure which is harder to picture, Harry or Liam, grinding against sweaty bodies on the crowded floor, dancing to the beat of pounding music.

“Yeah.” Liam peers into the bag, crinkling it hopefully, and frowns when he only gets crumbs.

It’s like pulling teeth, getting information out of him. “You don’t seem like the clubbing type,” Niall tries after a moment of silence.

“Don’t go so much anymore, but I liked the dancing. It was fun.” He scrunches up the empty bag, tosses it back in his lunch sack.

“What about Harry, then? He like dancing too?” Apparently, if he wants answers, he’s going to have to be less than subtle. If Liam thinks he’s being nosy, he doesn’t say.

“Nah, he’s more the type to hang by the bar, try to chat someone up. Oh, it’s actually a pretty funny story, how we met!”

“Is it,” Niall says dryly.

Liam grins. “I was pretty drunk and was telling this story about Bressie – you know Bressie, right?” Niall nods, gestures for Liam to continue. “Yeah, the time that there was this, I dunno, dead deer or summat in the middle of the road. Bressie was painting new lines and instead of getting out of the truck to move it,” Liam’s laughing now, that amused at his own story, “he just runs right over it! Paints a yellow stripe across the poor thing.”

“Hilarious,” Niall says, voice flat. Maybe this isn’t a story about Harry, after all. Liam should be a spy or something, because he’s got a knack for talking without actually saying anything.

“Harry didn’t even laugh, though!” Liam complains. Jackpot. “He wanted to know what we normally did with roadkill. I can’t really remember the rest of the conversation, but somehow I ended up promising to bring him the next dead thing I found.”

“Huh.” Niall’s gathering his thoughts, figuring out where he wants to pry next, but then Liam’s leaping up. “Breaks over!” he says cheerfully. “Back to work.”

Niall groans. He’s still got half his sandwich left.

-

Niall’s sunburn eventually fades into a tan and his blisters harden into callouses. He notices there’s more definition in his muscles and his biceps actually bulge a bit when he flexes. His grocery bill drops off because he doesn’t have to buy hair-dye so often, the harsh summer sun keeping his tips bleached almost blonde.

There have been three more animal casualties (not that Niall’s been, like, keeping track or anything. He just notices things, is all) but all of them happen at night when the crew’s not around and aren’t salvageable by the time he and Liam stumble across them.

Liam doesn’t seem inclined to visit the taxidermy shop unless he’s bringing Harry something, but he does invite Niall out for drinks with the guys on Friday night.

Niall nurses his pint, studying the amber depths of his beer instead of watching the makeshift stage where a string of musicians have performed for Open Mic Night. His fingertips itch to pluck at guitar strings, but he hasn’t taken it out of its case since the day he got hired on the crew.

He paid rent on time for the first time in nearly a year this month. It’s a small sacrifice to make, really, trading in a pipe dream for a 9 to 5. He’s got _financial security_ now. There’s a sudden lump in his throat and he takes a slug of beer to wash it down.

It sits heavy in his stomach, sloshing uncomfortably. He calls it an early night, waving off Liam’s concerned questions. Goes home to a dark apartment and staggers into bed with his jeans still on.

If he dreams that night, he doesn’t remember.

-

The sun is barely peeking above the horizon, the soft light of early morning casting long shadows across the landscape as Niall climbs from the cab of his truck. He yawns, his tired eyes slipping shut, and when he opens them he sees half the crew gathered around in a semi-circle, looking at something on the ground.

Shouldering his way through the pack, Niall quickly sees what the excitement’s all about. There’s a dead buck on the side of the road and the lack of flies suggests it hasn’t been there long. Niall’s no hunting expert, but there’s an impressive set of antlers adorning its head. It’s in good shape, too, no blood visible at all. Could be sleeping, really. Except for the glassy, blank eyes.

Bressie’s ranting on about venison and Andy’s looking at him with barely disguised disgust. “It’s roadkill. I don’t care if it’s not bloody, you are _not_ eating that.”

Someone else chimes in about mad cow disease and Bressie argues that it’s a fucking deer, anyway, not a cow.

Liam ends the argument by saying he’s bagsied it and Niall’s a bit amazed that everyone else actually backs off. He raises a questioning brow at Liam, who shrugs. “If Bressie wanted to eat rotten meat, he should have called it first. C’mon, help me get this in the truck. We gotta get it to Harry right away.”

It’s a bit of a struggle, but Niall’s new and improved biceps prove their worth and they eventually get the buck into the truckbed. Liam promises the foreman they’ll make up the missed time at the end of their shift and then they’re off, Bressie watching sadly as they drive away.

-

They realize there’s a slight issue when they arrive at Harry’s shop. Mainly, it’s still the asscrack of dawn and the shop isn’t open yet.

“Huh,” Liam says, scratching his head. “I did not see this coming.”

It’s a bit of a predicament, to be sure. Not that there’s ever a good place to drive around with a dead deer in your trunk, but a charming street with rows of quaint shops and homey little flats seems particularly, well, not good.

At least all the shops are dark, so no one’s there to witness. Well, all but one. There’s a small antique shop tucked up next to Harry’s and the sign in the window reads, “ _Come in, we’re open!_ ”

Niall and Liam exchange glances. “May as well,” Liam says.

There’s no tinkling bell on the door, but it groans loudly when Liam shoulders it open. The shop is a bit dim and dusty, and even more crowded than Harry’s. It takes them a moment to spot the front counter, which is also piled high with junk, but there’s no one there.

“Maybe they’re in the back?” Liam offers.

“HELLO!” Niall shouts. “ANYONE HOME?”

There’s a thump directly above them, like someone’s fallen over, and not a minute later comes the pounding of feet down a staircase. A person bursts through a door Niall hadn’t noticed amongst all the rubbish, wide-eyed and disheveled looking.

“Thieves!” the guy shouts. Well, croaks, really. He coughs, clearing his throat. “Robbers! Ruffians! Get out of my shop before I call the police!”

Liam scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, we’re not robbers?”

The guy crosses his arms, shoots them an unimpressed look. “Then why have you broken into my shop? Seems like a thing a robber would do, don’t you think?”

“We didn’t break in. The door was unlocked. There’s an open sign, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh.” The guy visibly deflates. “Shit, I _knew_ I forgot something yesterday. That would have been exciting though, wouldn’t it, if you guys really were robbers? Front page news, even.” He frowns. “Though what’d you want to steal from an antique shop is beyond me.”

“I guess?” Liam says. He keeps turning his sentences into questions, like he’s afraid to commit to a statement. It’s bloody annoying.

“We’re looking for Harry,” Niall interrupts. “D’you know what time he opens?”

“What are you looking for that weirdo for?” the guy asks conversationally. “He’s always carrying on about dead things. Well, dead animals, I suppose. Not people.” He tilts his head as if a thought has just occurred to him. “At least, I think not people. He could be a serial killer. Who knows?”

“Harry’s not a serial killer,” Liam protests.

“Ugh,” the guy groans. “Please tell me you’re not another corpse collector. You know, I’ve tried for years to get Zayn to come over to the light side, but he’s fixated on sewing little Frankenstein creations. Jesus, it’s like a Stephen King version of a museum over there.”

Niall laughs, because the guy’s got a point. His laugh quickly turns into a sneeze, which turns into six more sneezes. “Have you heard of dusting, mate?”

“That’s rich, really, coming from you. What, dead animals are fine, but a little dust is crossing the line?”

Liam pointedly drags a fingertip across the thick coating of dust on the counter. “You call this a little?”

“Oi, nobody asked you,” the guy complains. “Honestly. Breaking into my shop to _critique my cleaning ability_. You’re monsters, the both of you.”

“We didn’t _break in_ \--” Liam huffs, but cuts off abruptly when Niall elbows him.

“Look, not ‘t be graphic, or anything, but we do have a dead deer in Liam’s truck that’s decomposing as we speak. D’ya know where we can find Harry or not?”

The guy stares at him with wide eyes. “That’s disgusting,” he finally says. “Can I see it?”

-

They find out the guy’s name is Louis and he’s had Harry’s number in his mobile literally the entire time, the unhelpful bastard. He seems to have a certain flair for dramatics, but agrees to call Harry readily enough when Liam does his eyebrow-thing at him.

Liam’s got very convincing eyebrows.

“Harold!” Louis chirps into the phone. “Good morning, sweetcheeks. Your creepy friends are here with a dead thing, did you know?” He pauses as Harry grumbles some response. “That’d be a lovely thought, H, it really would, only I don’t think they make coolers big enough for a full-grown deer.” Niall can’t make out Harry’s reply, just a general squawking sound, but Louis grins. “’Course. What are friends for?” He hangs up without saying bye.

“Harry’s on his way,” he announces. “Though I really shouldn’t be helping you.”

Liam crosses his arms, glares at Louis. “If you’re about to use the words ‘accessory to a crime,’ so help me, Louis…”

Niall would be surprised that Liam even knows what that means, but he’s talked at length about his love for cop shows. He can quote the entire intro from _Law and Order: SVU_. Niall’s heard him do it. Several times.

He gears up to intervene and play referee, because Liam sounds genuinely irritated, but Louis is already jabbering away again. “No, no, no, I meant because if Harry sells that deer, I’m definitely going to lose this month.”

“Lose what?”

“The contest,” Louis says, like it’s obvious.

“ _What_ contest?” And Niall thought Liam was bad.

“Every month we have a contest to see who can sell the most expensive thing. Loser has to buy drinks for the winner.”

“Oh,” Liam says.

“Yeah. It’s really fun! I always jack up the prices, act like I’m selling really fancy things instead of junk. You wouldn’t believe what some people will pay for absolute rubbish.”

Liam’s mouth is gaping like a fish out of water. “Wh-what,” he sputters. “You can’t – that’s dishonest! That’s, that’s _lying_ , Louis, you can’t just--”

“Oh, come off it. It’s all rubbish in the end, isn’t it? ‘S’not like I _actually_ lie and say ‘oh, well the queen’s arse sat on this chair once, so that’s why I’m selling it for 500 quid.’” He shrugs. “Things are worth what people’ll pay for ‘em.”

“That’s deep,” Niall says, rather impressed.

Louis grins, his blue eyes twinkling. “I heard Zayn say that once. Decided it would be a good business practice.”

Liam still looks unsure, but before he can launch into a confused lecture, Harry pulls up with a screech of brakes. He stumbles hastily out of the car, his curls wild and unkempt like he just rolled out of bed. They catch the early morning light, shining gold like an untamed halo around his head.

He stalks around to the bed of the truck, looking half asleep, but his eyes widen comically when he sees the buck. “Holy shit,” he rasps.

“Worth getting out of bed, then?” Louis asks, amusement lacing his tone. “Only the rest of us have been waiting here for _hours_ , been up with the sun, haven’t we, like mature, _responsible_ adults.”

“Shut up, Lou. You called me barely ten minutes ago.” Harry hasn’t looked away from the buck, eyes scanning the length of it. “Like you’d ever get up this early on your own, anyway.”

Niall snorts. “He’s got your number, Louis. Or is your hair supposed ‘t look like bedhead on purpose?”

“I’m being bullied!” Louis yelps. “See if I ever do any of you lot a favor again, if this is how I’m to be repaid!” He’s smiling though, and Niall gets the feeling he’s rather enjoying himself.

“Right,” Liam says, eyeing Louis warily. “Well, Niall and I really ought to be getting back to work, so if we could get this deer out of my truck…”

“’Course, ‘course, just, um, bring it the back, will you?” Harry murmurs. They manage, between the four of them, to get it in the back of Harry’s shop (well, the three of them do the actual lifting. Louis appoints himself director and yells out utterly unhelpful suggestions while the rest of them struggle under the heavy weight of a full grown buck).

They’ve barely set it down before Liam’s turning back towards the door, more than ready to get back to the crew. Niall makes to follow, but stops on whim. “Uh, Harry?”

“Yeah?” he answers distractedly.

“D’ya think I could get your number?”

Harry glances up at that, meeting Niall’s eyes for the first time all morning. Niall thinks maybe he’s imagining the heat he sees there.

“My number?” he repeats blankly.

“Yeah, I mean, in case something like this happens again,” Niall says hastily. “Might need ‘t reach ya sometime when Louis isn’t around ‘t save the day.” There. That’s, like, totally a plausible reason to ask. Definitely.

“Oh, right. Sure.” Harry reaches blindly for a piece of scratch paper, jots his number down messily before handing it to Niall.

“Thanks,” Niall mumbles, gripping the paper with sweaty fingers. Fuck it, he thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound. He opens his mouth to ask if maybe Harry wouldn’t mind if Niall called him sometime about dinner, but then Liam honks out front, and his courage shrivels up.

“I should, uh… I should go.”

Harry’s already turned back to his deer, muttering under his breath. “Bye,” he calls out, as the door swings shut behind Niall.

-

It’s just a scrap of paper, but Niall swears he can feel it burning a hole in his pocket during his whole shift. And it’s stupid, right, he’s not actually – he’s not going to _call_ Harry. It’s a dumb idea, asking him out to dinner. What are they going to talk about, asphalt and roadkill?

The thing is – Niall doesn’t actually _care_ about taxidermy. Harry’s winding, nonsensical stories about his collection didn’t make all that much sense, and in all honestly Niall feels a little squeamish about the general concept. He prefers his animals alive, or better yet, with a side of chips.

Absentmindedly, Niall rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist, presses down against the thudding beat of his pulse.

-

Niall programs Harry’s number into his mobile with steady fingers. His thumb hovers over the call button, his heartbeat kicking up with adrenaline as he stares down at the screen. He presses call before he can talk himself out of it, tongue tripping over his words after Harry answers with a slow “hello?”

Harry’s enthusiastic yes definitely doesn’t give him butterflies in his tummy. Niall presses his smile into his pillow that night, but it’s a long time before he settles down enough to fall asleep.

-

Harry’d agreed to take care of the reservation, so Niall shows up Saturday night in his best button-up, running nervous hands over the material to smooth it into place. He’s a bit early and he compulsively checks his phone as the wait drags on, standing awkwardly alone in the lobby of the little Italian restaurant Harry’s picked. There’s classic Italian music softly playing from speakers hidden amongst ivy growing along the walls and it soothes Niall’s jangled nerves.

Harry shows up five minutes late, curls slicked back from his face and smiling sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late. Think Zayn’s rubbing off on me. Lad’ll be late to his own funeral.”

“’S’all right,” Niall mumbles. Harry’s wearing all black and he looks _incredible_. It’s probably rude to ogle your own date, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He grins at Niall, dimples on full display. “Shall we, then?”

He murmurs something to the hostess and then they’re being led off into the dining area, seated at a secluded little booth near the window. It’s proper romantic. Niall reaches immediately for the wine menu, careful not to catch his sleeve on the candle flickering softly in the middle of the table.

“Zayn always says this place is trying too hard, but I think it’s nice,” Harry drawls. “Besides, the food here is incredible. You’ve got to try the spaghetti.”

“You drag me ‘t an Italian place straight out of a movie and recommend the _spaghetti_? Didn’t think you were such a cliché, Styles.”

Harry beams. “My favorite movie is _Love Actually_. I live for clichés.”

“Mmm,” Niall murmurs. “Was always a fan of _Lady and the Tramp_ , meself.” His raises his brow as ridiculously as he can manage and is rewarded with Harry’s loud laugh. He quickly claps a hand over his mouth, glancing around at the other patrons and giggling into his palm.

“’M I interrupting something?”

Niall pulls his gaze away from Harry and glances up at… Zayn?

“Uh,” he says intelligently.

Harry scooches over on his bench so Zayn can slide in next to him, smiling brightly like this is a normal occurrence on dates. Zayn glances back and forth between Niall and Harry, but his face gives nothing away.

“What’d I tell you?” Harry is saying. “Late to his own funeral, this one.” He smirks at Zayn. “Glad you could join us, bro.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn mutters, reaching for Harry’s menu and snatching it out of his slack grip. “You pick the worst places for dinner, honestly. Why couldn’t we just go to a pub? I want something dripping with grease.”

Niall sits back in his seat, watching Harry and Zayn fall into an easy conversation, bickering like… like an old married couple, really. Niall’d assumed, when he asked Harry on a date, that he was, what’s the phrase, single and ready to mingle. Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

Maybe Harry and Zayn are a package deal. Be nice if Harry would have told him that up front, but all right. Niall can – he can roll with this. He can handle a date that’s a bit unorthodox and come Monday he’ll have a funny story for Liam. It’s fine.

The longer the date drags on, though, the less sure Niall is that it’s actually a date. Harry’s been plenty flirtatious, with both Niall and Zayn, but also with their waitress, and the server who’d brought their wine out, and even the elderly woman he’s accidentally bumped into on his way to the loo.

Maybe this whole restaurant is on a date with Harry. Niall tops off his glass of wine and takes a healthy swallow, wishing it were beer. Zayn watches him over the lip of his own glass, his dark eyes glittering with amusement.

Harry’s still in the toilet, so after carefully lowering his glass back to the table, Niall licks his lips. “What’d, ah – what’d Harry tell you, about t’night?”

Zayn swirls his wine around, a tiny red hurricane caught in a glass cage. He finally shrugs, glancing up at Niall. “Said you wanted to get dinner, then whined for a good twenty minutes when I tried to talk him out of coming here.”

“Oh.”

Zayn taps his finger rhythmically against the table, studying Niall with a contemplative look on his face. “Were you expecting me to show up tonight?” he asks.

“Not – not really, no,” Niall admits.

Zayn smiles kindly, the flickering candle light catching the warmth in his eyes. “Harry can be a bit thick, sometimes. You’ve got to understand--”

“Understand what?” Harry asks, folding his lanky frame into the seat next to Niall. “Budge up,” he instructs. “You’ve barely touched your spaghetti, Niall,” he adds, frowning at Niall’s plate.

Zayn rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Not everyone is as enamored with marinara sauce as you, Haz.” He slides out of the booth, the movement so smooth it’s almost feline. Digging his wallet out of his pocket, he throws a few notes onto the table to cover his portion of the bill. “Gotta get going, but you two lovebirds have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winks at Niall, who promptly blushes, before sauntering off.

Harry seems as unconcerned by Zayn’s departure as he was by his arrival. He grabs Niall’s fork off his plate, twirling pasta around the tines, before shoving it into Niall’s face. It’s not exactly romantic, and Niall can’t help the laughter that bubbles out as Harry smears sauce all over his cheek, missing his mouth completely.

“Stop it, ugh!” he laughs, shoving Harry off. “You’re such a child.”

Harry just grins, watching as Niall reaches for a napkin to clean his face off. “I like you, Niall,” he announces.

“Yeah?” Niall’s mouth quirks up into a helpless smile. “I like you, too, Harry.”

He’s still got no idea what exactly happened tonight, but, well. At least they’ve got one thing established.

-

“So how’d the big date go?”

“It… didn’t?”

Liam and Niall are shoveling asphalt, fixing a patch of potholes. The work is somehow both boring and strenuous, and Niall pauses to wipe the sweat from his forehead for the twentieth time today.

Stamping down a few errant chunks, Liam glances up at Niall. “Did he cancel or something?”

“No, he…” Niall pauses, stumped on how to explain it. “He invited Zayn, too.”

That gets him an eyebrow raise. “So you were on a date with Harry _and_ Zayn?”

“No? I don’t think it was a date. I mean, we all paid for our own dinner, so.”

Liam leans on his shovel, giving up all pretenses of working. “You asked him out to dinner and he said yes. I think that counts as a date,” he argues.

“But then he _invited another bloke along_.”

“Oh, right. Well, what’d you say when you asked him? Did you tell him it was a date?”

“I dunno, I think I just asked if he wanted ‘t get dinner sometime and then he started rambling on about this Italian place he loves. _What_ ,” he groans, “don’t look at me like that Liam, I didn’t know I needed ‘t like, spell it out. That’s how normal people ask other normal people out on dates!”

“Obviously Harry isn’t normal, if he brought a chaperone on his date. Hey! Maybe he brought Zayn as his wingman!”

Niall has to resist the urge to facepalm. “Liam. You don’t bring your wingman on your date. That’s not... That’s not how wingmen _work_.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Liam whines. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure Zayn has a girlfriend.”

“Oh, god. Are ya tellin’ me I’m accidentally dating _three_ people?”

Liam laughs, knocking his shoulder against Niall’s. “No, mate, I think you have to date people on purpose, like. Why don’t you just do something romantic, get him flowers or something, and tell him that you want to date him and only him?”

“Huh. That’s really reasonable advice, Liam.”

“Be a great agony aunt, wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t think I’d go that far,” Niall snorts. “I’ve seen your attempts at spelling. Atrocious.”

Liam dumps an entire bottle of water over Niall’s head in retaliation, which mostly feels good on Niall’s heated skin and means Liam doesn’t have any water to drink the rest of their shift, so Niall counts it as a win.

-

Flowers should be easy, but Niall’s been standing in front of the flower shop’s selection of bouquets so long the florist has started giving him suspicious looks.

He just didn’t realize there were so many _options_. Initially, red roses had seemed the obvious choice. Harry himself said he loved clichés, and there was no way he could misinterpret the gesture. Niall had touched a fingertip to a scarlet petal, soft and unbearably fragile, and his mind immediately flashed back to the bright smear of red on pavement.

He jerked his finger back like he’d been burned and sent Liam a desperate text pleading for help. Rabbit guts were not romantic.

Now he’s pacing the shop, debating between a bouquet full of flowers whose names he can’t pronounce or maybe a single white rose or, fuck, are tulips romantic? It’s possible he’s overthinking things.

His mobile buzzes in his pocket and he digs it out, scanning Liam’s reply.

**i think redddd rosses r romantic but hary likes teh color yellowwww follow ur hart nialler!!!!**

Niall takes a deep, steadying breath. They’re just flowers, he reminds himself.  He picks a small bouquet of yellow roses and pays the cashier with a tight smile. Harry should still be at his shop, and anyway it’s probably a bit forward to show up with flowers at someone’s house, so Niall drives to the familiar street and finds a parking spot nearby.

He’s nearly reached Harry’s when someone calls his name. He whirls around and sees Louis, lounging against the wall of the antique shop like he owns the place. Which, he probably actually does, Niall realizes.

“How ya doin’?” he greets, feeling a little self-conscious about the flowers he’s gripping tightly with sweaty fingers.

“I’m wonderful, Niall, thank you for asking.” Louis eyes Niall’s bouquet with obvious interest. “Are you hoping to seduce someone with those?”

“I, um, they’re for Harry,” he says, flustered.

Louis’ eyes widen. He looks absolutely delighted. “You’ve gotten roses for our young Harold, have you? Do you have a _crush_ , Niall? Are you trying to _woo_ him?”

Niall licks his lips. “D’ya think it’ll work?”

Louis looks thoughtful, which is possibly the most terrifying expression Niall’s seen on his face. Soon enough his lips split into a wicked grin. “No, you idiot. You got him yellow roses. Do you know what yellow roses _mean_?”

Glancing down at his little bouquet, Niall frowns. “Um.”

“Yellow roses mean _friendship_. You can’t woo someone with friendship roses.”

“That’s stupid,” Niall scoffs. “All roses are romantic, and anyway he _likes_ yellow, Liam said so.”

“Liam’s an idiot,” Louis declares. “But whatever. Go give Harry your friendship roses. I’ll be waiting here to tell you I told you so.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, really,” Niall says dryly and pulls open the door of the shop before Louis can say anything else.

Conveniently, Harry is behind the counter today, curly head bent over paperwork. He looks up when the bell above the door jingles and his face lights up when he sees that it’s Niall.

“Hi!” he beams.

Niall grins back. “Hi.” They smile at each other for a moment before Niall remembers that he’s on a mission. He clears his throat. “I, uh, I got you something.” Holding out the flowers, he rambles on, “Saturday was a lot of fun, um, and I was thinking--”

“Oh, Niall,” Harry breathes, reaching out for the roses. He sticks his face into the bouquet, breathing in deeply. “They’re beautiful, mate. Hold on, I think I’ve got a vase in the back.” He shuffles off, still cradling the roses in arms.

Niall shifts his weight, leaning on the counter. This is going well, so far. Once Harry comes back, Niall can finish his romantic declaration and then maybe ask Harry on a real date.

A moment later, Harry comes lumbering back, talking over his shoulder to someone Niall can’t see. “Gorgeous, aren’t they? Niall’s so sweet, bringing friendship roses.”

Harry places the flower filled vase on the counter and Zayn follows him out of the backroom. Of fucking course Zayn is here.

“Friendship roses,” he echoes, looking at Harry with skepticism. “Because… they’re yellow?”

Harry nods cheerfully and Niall grinds his teeth so hard he sees stars. “Liam said you liked yellow,” he says faintly and Zayn looks at him sharply.

“I do,” he replies happily. “Thank you, Niall, these really are lovely.”

“’Course,” Niall sighs. “What are friends for?” Somewhere, he thinks, Louis is laughing at him.

-

“Don’t even need to say it, do I?” Louis is definitely laughing at him.

“How the fuck was I supposed ‘t know yellow means friendship? What, are you all secret florists?” Niall grouches, stalking out of Harry’s.

Louis smiles impishly. “C’mon, mate, step into my lair. You clearly need help.” He opens the door to his antique shop with a flourish, beckoning Niall inside.

“Should I be concerned that you call it a ‘lair’?” he asks as he steps over the threshold into the dingy shop. He’s made worse decisions, probably, than trusting Louis.

Like buying yellow roses, for example.

He’s not sure how it’s possible, but the shop appears even dustier than the last time he was here. Early evening light streams in through the windows, illuminating dust mites swirling gracefully in the air. It’d be pretty, maybe, if his lungs had proper ventilation. It makes his chest feel tight, seeing the particles he’s breathing in, so he hovers near the still open door, taking in lungfuls of fresh air.

Louis apparently has no such reservations and marches through the shop like a man on a mission. “Pez!” he yells. “Chairs!”

“What?” someone else yells back.  “Chairs for _what_?”

Louis looks back at Niall, rolls his eyes. “To sit on. What else?”

A girl with bright pink hair walks into view, arms crossed. She looks extremely unimpressed. “Don’t be a dick, Lou. If you want my help finding chairs, then ask me politely.”

With a huge sigh, Louis says, “Pez. Perrie. Light of my life. Would you please be so kind as to help me, kindly, find some chairs? To sit on.” He bats his eyes at Perrie for good measure.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” she huffs, but Niall sees the corner of her mouth twitch in amusement. She spots Niall then and her lips blooms into a full smile. It’s striking.

“Hiya,” she chirps. “Has Lou coerced you into friendship, then? He’s terribly irritating that way.”

“Focus, Pez. _Chairs_.”

“Fuck off,” she says sunnily. “Me and--” “Niall,” he supplies. She nods. “Me and Niall are getting better acquainted. It’s your bleeding shop, you find some chairs.”

“I’m your boss,” Louis grumbles. “I _can_ fire you, you know.”

“Then you’d have to keep your own books,” she cheerfully reminds him.

Louis groans, but starts looking around while Niall and Perrie watch, complaining loudly the entire time. He comes up with a rickety, three-legged stool and an armchair that’s (unsurprisingly) more dust than chair. Niall cautiously settles onto the stool while Louis sinks into the chair with a cloud of dust. Perrie perches on the countertop, kicking her feet out like a little kid.

“You’ve got a pretty shit collection of chairs for an antique shop,” Niall observes. His stool wobbles violently.

“Stop deflecting,” Louis orders. “We’re here to talk about your love life, not the state of my _award-winning_ shop.”

“Don’t ask,” Perrie warns.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Louis cuts in. “Our dear Niall here is in love with Harry and needs our help seducing him.”

“I’m not--” Niall starts, but Perrie’s clapping excitedly. “Oh, you’re sweet on Haz? That’s so cute! Of course we can help you seduce him.”

“He got Harry _yellow roses_ ,” Louis informs Perrie with faint disgust. She gasps. “ _No_. Oh, love, why wouldn’t you go for red?”

“Because I – look, forget about the damn roses, okay? Just, like,” he licks his lips. “Do I have a chance with ‘im? He doesn’t seem all that interested in, well, in me.”

Perrie looks at him with sympathy. “You’re definitely his type.” (Louis snorts. “ _Everyone_ is Harry’s type,” he mutters, and Perrie promptly kicks him. “Ouch!”) “Harry’s a bit of a flirt, but he’s not so great on the follow through. You’ve got to be really obvious, or he’s not going to know you’re being serious.”

“I asked him out ‘t dinner,” Niall admits. “And he brought Zayn along.”

That sets off both Louis and Perrie, laughing so hard they’re wheezing. “He did _not_. Oh my god, Zayn said he was going out for a boys’ night the other weekend. That boy is hopeless!”

“So they’re not, I mean… Zayn and Harry aren’t, like, together?”

Perrie is clutching her stomach, gasping for breath. “Good Lord, no. He’d have a fair bit of explaining to do, if he was.”

“Pez and Zayn have been dating for years,” Louis explains. “So I don’t think you have to worry about him moving in on your man.”

“Oh my god,” Niall mumbles, dropping his face into his hands.

Louis pats his shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you come up with a great plan. You’ll have Harry eating out of the palm of your hand.” He pauses. “Or other places. I’m not here to judge.”

“You’re disgusting, Lou,” Perrie sniffs. Louis looks proud.

“Can we focus?” Niall asks. “I can’t stay here all night, so if you’ve got any good ideas, let’s hear ‘em.”

They fall into a contemplative silence. Louis’ thinking face is especially funny, face screwed up in thought, and Niall can practically see a light bulb appear over his head the moment he gets an idea.

“I’ve got it! A _condom bouquet_.”

“A condom – what? You’re not serious.” Niall moans.

“He certainly wouldn’t misinterpret that as friendship,” Perrie points out.

“It’s cheeky!” Louis insists. “Harry _loves_ cheeky.”

“Look, Lou, I’m tryin’ ‘t date him, not, ya know, like, hit it and quit it.”

“Hit it and—did you seriously just say _hit it and quit it_?”

“How did you and Zayn get together?” Niall asks Perrie loudly in an attempt to drown out Louis’ squawking.

Perrie smiles and it’s so fond Niall’s heart aches a little. “Asked me to go to the cinema, didn’t he, but couldn’t even get up the nerve to hold my hand. He was sweet, though, gave me a chaste little kiss goodnight.”

“Then Perrie dragged him inside and had her wicked way with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more debauched than Zayn when he showed up at Harry’s the next morning.”

“Oi,” Perrie protests, but she’s laughing. “Zayn needed a little nudge, all right, but we got there in the end.”

“Their love is eternal,” Louis informs him. “Zayn’s got her tattooed on his arm, so they can’t break up without it being awkward. Hey, that’d get Harry’s attention, wouldn’t it?”

“Louis. I’m not going ‘t get a tattoo of Harry. Why don’t I just ask him ‘t see a film? Be a proper date, wouldn’t it?” he asks, but Perrie’s shaking her head. “Harry’s the type to actually _watch_ a film. He’ll be too distracted to notice if you’re trying to flirt with him.”

Niall groans. “Love shouldn’t be this hard.”

“Don’t,” Perrie says, shoving her hand over Louis’ mouth before he can make a joke about what else is hard. Niall just shakes his head, laughing helplessly.

It’s better than crying, anyway.

-

 Niall shoots down no less than twenty of Louis and Perrie’s truly awful ideas before he calls it a night, heading home to his dark flat.

He’s got work in the morning, but he feels restless, unable to sit still, let alone sleep. The flat’s too small to pace, though, and Niall knows there’s only one way to burn off energy when he gets like this.

It takes a minute of digging, but eventually he unearths his guitar case from the depths of his closet. He takes the guitar out with reverent hands and it feels like coming home. Settling on the end of the bed, Niall takes his time tuning it, letting his fingers trail across the strings. Even though he hasn’t played in a while, work has kept his hands tough, and he barely feels the bite of the strings as he presses down, fingers finding familiar chords, coaxing out a song.

He plays for a long time, bits and pieces of songs he’s memorized and random chord progressions, letting himself get lost in the music.

Niall goes to bed feeling more relaxed than he has in ages, an idea beginning to bloom in the recesses of his mind.

-

Niall blows off Liam’s invitations to join the guys at the pub Friday night, which earns him sad puppy dog eyes, but Niall’s resolute. He goes home every night to his guitar, more driven than he’s been in years.

It’s sort of painful, at first, the waves of nostalgia that roll over him when his fingers pick out a familiar song. He swears he can smell the stale beer, feel the uncomfortable stool under him and the stage lights shining bright in his eyes.

There’s no one to judge him in his living room, though, no drunken laughter to remind him that he’s going nowhere fast, singing his heart out to an audience that’s more interested in the footie match on TV.

There’s no adrenaline rush, either; he doesn’t come close to the euphoric feeling after a great performance, those times the crowd was cheering so loud that Niall believed, honestly believed he could make it.

The feeling of a guitar in his hands is familiar, however, and playing settles something deep in his bones.

Niall’s not playing for an audience, this time. It’s entirely for himself.

He pauses to scratch out a line, humming to himself as he rewrites it. His fingertips are stained with ink, the pages of his old notebook a bit yellowed with age. He strums out a few chords, satisfied with the sound, and sings along softly, eyes on the freshly scribbled words.

He’s playing for himself, but he’s writing for someone else.

-

Niall contemplates just inviting Harry, and then not inviting anyone at all, but in the end he sends the same text to everyone.

**open mic friday at paddys. starts at 8. please come !**

He allows himself one pint, nursing it at the bar as his friends trickle in one by one. Liam’s the first, of course, and greets Niall with an easy smile, steady as always. He looks a bit flustered when Louis arrives and Louis takes advantage, darting in to tweak his nipples. Liam squeaks and bats Louis’ hand away, much to Louis’ delight.

Zayn is, predictably, twenty minutes late, but he walks in with his arm around Perrie. They both smile a little bashfully in apology, Perrie curled under Zayn’s arm like she doesn’t belong anywhere else. Niall sees the way Zayn’s arm tightens around her, the soft smile he gives her that crinkles his eyes until they’re nothing but dark slits. He looks away, taking another gulp of beer.

Niall doesn’t get nervous until the MC signals that he’s on next. Harry still hasn’t shown up and like, it sort of defeats tonight’s purpose if Harry doesn’t come.

Swallowing the last of his beer, Niall pushes off from the bar with a nod at Liam. He weaves his way through the crowd towards the stage and he can feel the way his heartbeat picks up. He _missed_ this feeling. Tonight is for _him_ , Niall reminds himself. Anything else is just a bonus.

Niall settles onto the stool, the guitar in his arms like a lifeline. He looks out into the crowded pub, but the lights are blinding as always, obscuring the faces of the audience. With nervous fingers, he reaches out and adjusts the mic, bringing it to his suddenly dry lips.

“Hi, ‘m Niall. Uh, I wrote this for a friend of mine, who’d I’d like ‘t be more than a friend. Cheers.”

The crowd claps politely and someone – Louis, he thinks – lets out a loud whoop. Niall smiles down at his lap, fingers stroking over the strings of his guitar. With one last deep breath, he picks out the opening chord.

_I’ve tried playing it cool_   
_But when I’m looking at you_   
_I can’t ever be brave_   
_‘Cause you make my heart race_

There’s more than polite applause when he finishes – it’s more like a roar, really. Niall stumbles off the stage in a bit of a daze. Someone – the MC, maybe – slips a crumpled wad of notes into his hand from the tip jar. Niall laughs, shoving the money into his pocket without bothering to count out the amount.

He’s still laughing when he reaches everyone and is immediately enveloped in a huge hug, arms everywhere like some kind of human/octopus hybrid. He only pulls back when it gets hard to breathe, but he can’t help the smile that seems permanently etched onto his face. Looking around at the happy faces of his friends, he feels a faint tug of disappointment that Harry’s familiar curls are nowhere to be seen. He catches Louis eye, but Louis just shrugs. “Sorry, mate. I guess he couldn’t make it.”

“S’all right,” Niall says. “It was – it was a rush, just being back on stage.”

“I didn’t know you could sing like that, you donut!” Liam exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you’re a secret musician?”

“Yeah, mate,” Zayn adds. “That song was _sick_. You can really sing.”

Niall can feel his cheeks heating under the praise. Liam insists on ordering him another pint and Niall gulps it down with relief, the beer cool on his tongue, numbing the adrenaline still coursing through him. He begs off for fresh air after a minute, promising to come right back once his head has cleared a little.

Shoving his way through the crowd, he reaches the door and steps out with a sigh of relief. The cacophony of sounds quiets immediately when the door shuts behind him and Niall walks a few paces away, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

For a minute he just stands there, breathing in and out. The sun has sunk below the skyline and night has settled over the city, the heat of the day bleeding away. Autumn’s on the horizon.

He’s about ready to go back inside, rejoin the crush of humanity, when a hesitant voice interrupts him.

“Niall? Louis texted me – I’m sorry, I missed your show.”

Niall cracks his eyes open. Harry is standing there, contrite.

“’S’fine, Haz. Didn’t actually tell you I was performing, did I? Not your fault ya missed it.”

Harry hunches his shoulders, looks at Niall with his lip caught between his teeth. “’m still sorry.” He pauses. “Um. Zayn texted me, too.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah. He said--” Harry cuts himself off, lets out a noisy breath. “He said you wrote a song for me.”

“Oh.”

Harry’s looking at him intently. “Did you?”

“I mean – yeah?”

“ _Why_?”

Niall nearly groans. “Because I like you, ya bloody idiot.”

“But you didn’t need to – you could’ve just _said_ ,” Harry protests.

He can’t help the laughter that escapes past his lips. “Are you kidding me? I asked you out on a date, I brought you flowers, for fuck’s sake!”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You-- _ohhh_.” He has the decency to blush, at least. “Sorry,” he says, smiling almost shyly. “Sometimes I have a hard time telling when someone’s being flirty or just, like, friendly.”

“In what world is asking someone on a date just _friendly_?”

“You said dinner!” Harry whines. “I thought you meant like, a boys night out!”

“So you picked a romantic Italian restaurant?”

The sheepish smile is back. “The _spaghetti_ , Niall.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pushes off the wall, has to tilt his head up a bit to maintain eye contact. “Let me be blunt, yeah? I like you, Styles. I want ‘t go on dates with you. _Just_ you. I want ‘t kiss you and I want ‘t get you naked and, and – reenact _Lady and the Tramp_ with you and the fucking spaghetti.”

Harry’s smile grows during Niall’s little speech until his grin is stretched wide, competing for space with his dimples on the planes of his cheeks.

“Bit of a cliché, isn’t it, getting together after a heartfelt confession like that?”

“Good thing you love clichés,” Niall grins before reaching up to grip Harry’s collar, pulling him down into a sound kiss. Harry sighs against his lips, takes advantage when Niall parts them to turn the kiss into something filthy. Niall’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason now, but he pulls back, panting against Harry’s mouth.

“Just so we’re clear, ya do want ‘t date me, right? I need ‘t hear you say it.”

 “Yes,” Harry says, leaning down to kiss Niall again. He trails open mouth kisses across Niall’s jaw until his breath is tickling Niall’s ear. He whispers something that Niall can’t repeat.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “We should – let’s get out here.”

Harry grins, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Niall’s wrist. He tugs Niall down the street, fingertips pressed to Niall’s racing pulse.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the song niall writes/sings for harry is 'one thing' by one direction (only because none of the songs niall's actually written fit the story)
> 
> there is minor zayn/perrie, sorry if that's not your jam
> 
> as always, comments/feedback very appreciated!


End file.
